


Aftermath

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [75]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aftermath: noun: AF-ter-math: consequence, result; the period immediately following a usually ruinous event; also: new grass growing after mowing or harvest.</p><p>late 15th century (sense 2): from after (as an adjective) + dialect math ‘mowing,’ of Germanic origin; related to German Mahd .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isitandwonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Twentyfourth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515766) by [isitandwonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder). 



> For isitandwonder, not necessarily the 'morning after' following "twentyfourth" but could be read as such. A very Merry Christmas, my friend. :)

The morning after. Technically, the afternoon after...hmm, if John wrote up the events that recently occurred, he'd probably call it 'Aftermath.'

Sherlock was the first to open his eyes. He blinked once, then twice. He knew John was present; in bed next to him, his could hear him softly snoring close by. He was afraid to move, but desperately wanted to turn a bit so he could watch John at rest. He gingerly rolled on to his right side, trying not to shift the duvet that barely hit John at his hips. 

John's hips. He noted a few finger marks that were already blossoming into bruises, a few scratch marks. He smirked a bit and instantly regretted it. His jaw hurt like hell, and the rest of him felt like it was just back from the wars. Shower. But, John. If he could spend the rest of his life simply being next to his flatmate, his friend, his....soulmate?

He started to laugh. He couldn't help it. But what other explanation was there? No one else had ever wanted him before. Not in that way, not for real, he'd given blow jobs, quite gifted at them in fact, received them, only in the name of science, of course; but nothing had prepared him for the onslaught of emotions that hit him like a ton of bricks.

John stirred at the sound of Sherlock's laughter. He held his breath and turned his head toward his friend and opened his eyes. Sherlock was now sitting on the edge of the bed, torn by indecision. Cautiously, John reached a hand out and touched Sherlock's back.

"Sher-"

"John? Sorry if I woke you up, just trying to decide, breakfast or shag John, bathe or kiss John, call Lestrade or lay in bed all day with John..." He turned enough so John could catch a glimpse of the darkening bruise, but also the light coming from his eyes...

"Are you-how are you up here?" John tapped Sherlock's forehead, wondering what marbles were left in there.

"I don't know yet, to be honest, just need time to process and soak for a bit, I need tea and I'm actually quite hungry...yes, for you... but, I also want a Full English with tons of bacon and beans and tomatoes..."

John slowly scooted closer to his detective and kissed him, as he gently touched his jaw. "I'm so sorry, love."

"I know, do it again and I'll knock you out, deal?"

"Deal. Breakfast, or bed?"

"Bath, breakfast, then bed. You will even have time to see if the shops are open, as I sort myself out. I do know that I love you."

"Yeah, me too, love. Me too."


End file.
